


A Game of Seduction

by Shaded Mazoku (Ashkaztra)



Category: Chrono Trigger
Genre: M/M, One Shot, Plot What Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-04-10
Updated: 2010-04-10
Packaged: 2017-10-08 20:28:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,366
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/79233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ashkaztra/pseuds/Shaded%20Mazoku
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A dance is simply a game where everyone wins.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Game of Seduction

Magus shook his head and turned away from the window from which he'd been watching the festivities outside. Mystics were creatures of the elements, far more so than any human, and they loved an excuse to celebrate. Even so, their fertility festival was more than a little overdone. Most of the castle would be nursing a hangover tomorrow, he suspected, judging by how freely drinks were passed around. The actual ritual sowing of crops was at least understandable, even if it was superstitious nonsense, but the three days of accompanying festivities was excessive. A waste of time and resources.

They were supposed to be the scourge of human-kind everywhere, terrifying magical creatures taken straight from a nightmare.

They were not suppose to be passing out drunk in corners everywhere, arms around whoever they managed to catch.

It was ridiculous.

There were a thousand things that they should be doing with their time, none of which involved drinking and dancing until they fell over. It might be spring, but the war didn't magically stop just because it was time to sow crops.

Still, Magus supposed it was all harmless enough, and it would all be over tomorrow. And unlike every other Mystic out there, he wasn't going to have the mother of all hangovers, either. There'd certainly be opportunities enough to teach his people a lesson. Sixty laps around the courtyard would be a good beginning.

A knock on the door brought him out of his thoughts about discipline, only moments before the door opened. This late in the evening, only one person would dare disturb him, and Flea's arrival into the room was preceded by the sweet smell of apples and something else, heavy and seductive, and almost a little smoky. A fitting choice of perfume for someone like Flea, especially considering his current appearance.

The Mystic was wearing one of the longest dresses Magus could remember ever seeing him in, but the material was sheer and semi-transparent, hiding very little. There were slits up to his hips on both sides, too, mostly invisible now. A long shawl in the same fabric trailed behind him, floating in a way that had to be enchanted.

"I'm guessing you're not joining the fun this year either?" Flea asked, amusement in his voice. He had a pitcher of wine in his hands, though from the flush on his face, he'd already had quite a bit to drink.

Magus snorted. "Joining you for an ineffectual ritual thought up by some demented mind as an excuse to get drunk? I'd honestly rather watch moss grow on the walls."

Flea smiled, putting the pitcher down on the near-by table. "I think I'm offended," he almost purred, conjuring up a glass with a choreographed flick of his wrist. "Moss can't hold a candle to my earlier performance, you know. Or not, since you missed it all."

"Oh, I saw enough."

Flea's dance was made to inflame the mind, all serpentine grace and flexibility as he swirled around the courtyard, dress parting to give glimpses of long, shapely legs and promises of so much more. Annoyed at how the memory made him feel like his blood was heating, Magus conjured up a glass of his own, poured himself a glass and threw it back. The wine felt blessedly cool as it went down, even if it was too sweet and fruity.

Still smiling, Flea filled his own glass and sipped at the wine. "Oh, good. I'd hate for all that to have been wasted." He giggled a little, eyes twinkling with mirth.

"Don't know why you bothered in the first place," Magus muttered, dropping gracelessly down into the large chair behind him.

"If you don't know," Flea purred, inspecting his nails in faked boredom, "I'm not going to tell you."

Snorting again, Magus reached over and poured himself another glass. The wine was too weak to do much, but it was cold and wet, and the room was annoyingly warm right then. "Playing games again? I thought I told you never to pull your tricks on me."

Flea giggled a little again, taking another sip of his wine, deeper this time. "No tricks, Magus. And no games, either." He paused, tilting his head for a moment and frowning thoughtfully, before smiling again. "No game that involves either of us losing, anyway."

Magus scowled but didn't comment, just took another gulp of the fermented fruit juice they tried passing off as wine. At least it wasn't too sticky, just intensely sweet. "You've got such high opinions of yourself," he finally said, eyeing Flea and his attire intently.

"Well deservedly so," Flea agreed. "Lesser men would have killed to see my performance earlier."

"Lesser men couldn't handle you," Magus retorted, not moving his gaze from the Mystic's graceful form.

Clearly aware of the scrutiny, Flea's eyes gleamed as he smiled lazily. "And you could?"

"Any time," Magus promised, a dark note of something almost feral in his voice. "Or do you think otherwise?"

The gleam in Flea's eyes remained as he put his half-empty glass on the table next to the pitcher. "Let us put that to the test," he suggested, his smile the smile of a reptile.

Magus said nothing, just leaned back and watched, never even blinking.

Flea tossed his cascade of pink hair over his shoulders and walked a bit away from the furniture before going motionless for a short while.

When he moved again, it wasn't the enthusiastic dance of earlier that was being performed. Every movement was languid and sensual, body swirling and writhing to the rhythm of a music only Flea heard. If Magus had thought the earlier dance had been meant to seduce, he'd been mistaken. This was pure seduction, every little movement tailored to bewitch and allure. The billowing dress and shawl twirled around Flea's body as he moved, floating as though they were extensions of the dancer himself.

This time, there was no denying the source of the heat that seemed to course through Magus' body.

It was for him Flea danced. Not for a sea of Mystics gathered to celebrate some ancient ritual. Only for him, a vision of grace and beauty arching, twisting and gyrating in front of his eyes only. It had always been meant for him and him alone, Magus realised.

A game where neither lost.

Magus rose to his feet in a single fluid motion, crossing the gap between them with determined strides. Reaching out, he grasped the whirling shawl with his hand and used it to pull Flea against him. The Mystic purred again, doing his best to twine himself around Magus while still moving. The friction was nice, but not enough. Never enough. He let Flea grind against him for a while, enjoying the feel of silky cloth and the heat of Flea's slender body, but eventually, he decided he needed more. One arm around Flea's waist locked him in place. While stronger than a human his size, Flea was no match for Magus, and he knew it well.

Purring still, Flea pressed close, not even reacting when Magus slid one leg in between his. "Still think you can handle me?" He asked, barely even breathing harder.

Growling in the back of his throat, Magus strengthened his grasp on Flea and twirled them around and backwards until he had backed Flea into the massive chair. With Flea sitting down, their already noticeable height differences were even more pronounced.

"You talk too much," Magus said. "And act too little."

Grinning up at him, Flea made short work of the lacing of Magus' pants, skilled fingers easily finding his cock and pulling it out. He was semi-hard already, just from watching Flea's little show. Anticipation was a wonderful thing.

Flea used his fingers to tease Magus for a while, careful with his sharp nails, before leaning in to take the head into his mouth, smiling at the hiss that drew from Magus. Flea enjoyed that, Magus knew, teasing and drawing responses out of him using only practised fingers and the wet, warm heat of his mouth. He did that purring thing again, sending vibrations through the shaft that made Magus hiss in pleasure and twine his hand into Flea's hair with no care for the carefully placed beads and jewellery. In response, Flea pulled back a little and sent a puff of cool air over the cock head before immediately covering it with his mouth again, a maddening contrast.

Magus closed his eyes and tugged at Flea's hair in something akin to encouragement. The Mystic had a skilled tongue, whether he was weaving pretty lies or lavishing attention on Magus' cock, and he could easily have let him just draw the orgasm from him with those clever hands and talented mouth. Magus wanted more than that, though.

Before long, he yanked Flea's head backwards, his cock slipping free from those lush painted lips with an audible pop. Flea licked his lips slowly, looking up at him from underneath long, dark lashes, eyes glowing with arousal and amusement. Transferring his hand from Flea's hair to his neck, Magus stepped backwards and pulled Flea to his feet. Flushed with excitement, the Mystic was a sight to behold; his flowing garments and hair moving seemingly on their own accord around him.

Twining his hand into the floating fabric, Magus pulled Flea to him and manoeuvred them both back to the chair, sitting down and drawing Flea into his lap. Flea purred in pleasure, giving a little moan as his own erection slid against Magus', only the flimsy barrier of his dress between them.

The role-reversal was fun. For all Flea's teasing, he didn't hold up all that well when the tables were turned on him. Chuckling, Magus slid his hand up along one slender leg, carefully parting the fabric to wrap his hand around Flea's cock, running his thumb up the underside of it.

Flea moaned again, eyes falling closed. He arched into the touch, lacing his legs into the chair as best he could, allowing him to free his hands. One disappeared behind him as he half-gasped the incantation to a simple spell, the other wrapping around Magus' cock again.

Magic hung heavy in the air for a moment before there was a sudden cool sensation, as Flea spread the oil he'd just summoned onto Magus' erection, the slick friction drawing a raw sound of pleasure from the larger man's throat.

Deciding he'd been patient long enough, Magus pulled Flea upwards a bit, tearing at the fabric to get better access. Flea made no attempt to stop him, reaching underneath himself to direct Magus' erection just where he wanted before lowering himself onto it with ease, the oil he'd summoned put to good use. He hissed in pleasure, echoed by a groan from Magus.

The tight, warm grip around his cock was wonderful. Magus growled in pleasure, grasping Flea's hips in a vice grip, and thrust up into that welcoming heat. Head falling backwards, Flea moaned and pushed back against him, establishing a fast, hard rhythm. For each time Magus moved, Flea moved back, their bodies sliding against each other. The friction had them both breathing hard, gasping for air as something felt particularly good.

Shifting a little, Magus found an angle that made Flea mewl, his cock brushing the magician's prostate in just the right way. He tightened his muscles for every stroke, making Magus feel as though he was milking him, and it felt wonderful. In that angle, Flea was pressed forwards against him and the fabric of Magus' shirt provided an interesting texture whenever Flea's cock dragged against it, drawing pleased little moans from his lips.

Before long, Flea had his arms wrapped tightly around Magus' neck, face buried in his neck as he pushed back into ever thrust, his breath warm and wet on Magus' skin. Magus' eyes were closed, his head tilted back against the high backing of the chair. Both were trying hard to delay the unavoidable, though it was a failing battle.

Flea reached his climax first, body going stiff as he came. As he did, he bit down on Magus' neck, drowning his cry of pleasure. The sudden bite, sharp and painful, provided a contrast to the way Flea tightened even more around him, and drew Magus over the edge shortly afterwards, thrusting hard into Flea's willing body one last time as he came.

For a while, neither of them moved, except to gasp for air, just enjoying the last remnants of their orgasms as they faded from them. Flea was a dead weight on top of Magus, even if he wasn't that heavy, but Magus was feeling too mellow to shove him off, one arm throw lazily around the magician's slender waist.

Only when the last waves of pleasure had long since faded did Flea get up, using his floating ability more than his physical strength. Looking down at himself, he snickered a little and tried in vain to smooth down the fabric that was left of his dress.

Magus grinned. Seeing Flea all rumpled was satisfactory enough, knowing he had caused it was even better. He still felt mellow, the afterglow flushing his body like warm honey. His own clothing had likely fared as bad as Flea's, but he couldn't work up the energy to care. Slowly, he got to his feet, making sure he had proper footing before walking to Flea's side, wrapping his arms around the Mystic's waist and pulling him close. Despite his much smaller frame, Flea always felt right in his arms.

Activating a teleport spell, Magus brought them both to his chambers, removing Flea's remaining attire almost before they arrived. Flea smiled, doing the same for Magus, dropping the garments carelessly to the floor. Once they were both naked, magic rippled around Flea, evaporating the sticky mess with ease.

Chuckling, Magus moved to the bed and motioned for Flea to join him. Flea did, curling into his arms like a drowsy cat and falling asleep nearly immediately.

As he drew the covers over them both, Magus reluctantly had to admit that there were some good things about Mystic rituals.


End file.
